by His Ransom
He punched the wall again and tried to be reasonable. Rosamunde had said that she would have married Sir Walter if her father had said she should. She was pragmatic about marriage. Since she had lost Simon, her first love, she had learned not to hope for love. She would make the most of any marriage, even if she did not love her husband and she could not love him while she loved Richard. Now he was assailed by doubt. She had not told him that she loved him, as he had not told her that he loved her. She had said only that he was pleasing to her. Perhaps she did not love him. She had loved Simon; her grief had been evidence of that, but she had forgotten him quickly enough and pledged herself to another man. Perhaps she would forget her new love as quickly. But that couldn’t be true. Rosamunde was a woman of her word. She had loved Simon, but he had died. He, Richard, was alive. Rosamunde would surely not give him up while he still had breath in him. But still there was that cry. Rosamunde was not a woman to defy her father, yet she had told him no for Richard’s sake. Richard smiled to himself. Rosamunde was sensible. She did love him and she was not made foolish by her love. She knew the man her father intended for her, knew his status and his wealth and still she thought that Richard would make the better husband. Rosamunde was a woman of good judgement.
Once more he thought about abducting Rosamunde. Even if he could persuade her to leave with him, it would mean harming his friends. He doubted he could take her without fighting and that would mean fighting against Thomas and Guy. He liked and respected both men and did not wish to harm them. Then there was his word to the duke. He had promised not to escape. He would be doubly foresworn if he escaped and took Rosamunde with him. This was not what he had wanted! The man was his lord and Richard was here only because of his own honour. He hit the wall with his fist again, noting dispassionately the smear of blood that glistened in the moonlight.
He needed find a way to see Rosamunde. She was sensible and he would be guided by her. He had gone wrong by following his own path with the duke. Love had not made her foolish, but it had made his senses flee.
The duke had had food brought to him this evening; doubtless he would be fed again in the morning. He would attack and disable whoever came and make his way to Rosamunde. He would try not to hurt whoever it was. No, he would not hurt whoever it was. He had come to know everyone in the castle during the siege and they were his lord’s people. He would find a way to disable them without hurting them.
He lay down on the palliasse and pulled the blanket over himself. Drifting in and out of sleep he remained alert for any sound at the door.
He was surprised when it came during the middle of the night, then afraid. Had the duke sent someone to solve his problem by killing his troublesome prisoner? Richard was out of his bed and by the door before he thought about it. Whoever it was turned the key quietly in the lock, opened the door and stepped into the room. He heard the rapid shallow breathing of someone who was nervous.
Richard grabbed the man, placing a hand over his mouth and an arm around his chest. He was shocked to discover that he had grabbed a woman as his hand encountered a full, firm breast. With relief he realised that this must be Rosamunde. She had come to him.
As he relaxed, he allowed himself to fondle her breast gently. She was wearing a cloak over her shift – she had come from her bed. Rosamunde’s head fell back on his shoulder and she sighed into his hand. He smiled; his virtuous woman was enjoying this. A terrible thought crossed his mind – perhaps she was not as virtuous as he had thought. Why would a virtuous woman visit a man in a cell at night? They had barely touched since he had made his declaration, let alone kissed. They had not been alone since they had returned from Sir Walter’s manor. She was certainly enjoying his touch now. He released her mouth and she moaned softly.
Richard was torn between enjoying her presence and testing her virtue. All thought of escape was gone. A woman of virtue would not be alone with a man in the middle of the night in little more than her shift. She would certainly not allow him to touch her in the way he was touching her now. And he remembered that she had not covered herself when he had come upon her in Sir Walter’s bedchamber. She had seemed unaware of her nakedness and had not seemed to mind that he had seen her.
Perhaps she was the same as Louse after all. She had never spoken of what had happened with Sir Walter and he had never asked, but perhaps she thought that having lost her virginity to such a man it did not matter what she did now. But she had behaved with perfect propriety in all the time had known her. She had not betrayed her feelings for him by a look or a touch.
Richard considered the possibility that Rosamunde was trying to force her father to let them marry by claiming that he had taken her virginity, but they would all know that this was not true. It was never spoken of in the castle, but it was understood that Rosamunde had not returned from Sir Walter’s a maid.
With a heavy heart, Richard resolved to test her virtue. If she had lost her virtue as well as her virginity he might as well remain a prisoner in the duke’s dungeon for the rest of his days.
He renewed his efforts with her breast, taking the nipple between thumb and forefinger and he began to kiss her neck. She moaned softly again and he was tempted to stop. He loved her; that should be enough. But always there was the memory of Louise. Love had not been enough to tie him to her. He knew that Rosamunde was not a virgin, but he had heard her screams and seen her bruises and knew that it had been against her will. What Sir Walter had done to her was not enough to stop him loving her and wanting to marry her.
Rosamunde sighed and turned in his arms, losing her cloak in the process. To his surprise she pressed her body against his and kissed him full on the mouth. He opened his lips to welcome her and, after some hesitation, she responded. He had never known a kiss like it. Rosamunde seemed to offer her entire self to him and he was not slow to take what she offered. He plundered her mouth and felt her nipples tighten through her thin shift against his chest. He drew her closer to him and her hands began a slow exploration of his neck and shoulders. He no longer cared about testing her virtue, he was lost to her, a slave of his own passion.
“Oh!” she said, as she pulled away without warning. “You’re naked!”
He smiled at her innocence. “Of course. I do not wear clothes to bed.” He raised his hand to stroke her face with the backs of his fingers.
She stepped back from him. “I did not know… I have never thought…” She took a deep breath. She stood in the moonlight that came in through the window and he watched her breasts rise and fall. “I came to keep my promise.”
“What promise?”
“To give you another kiss on the day you asked my father for my hand.”
“But he refused me.” Now he was confused.
“I did not say that he had to accept, only that you had to ask.” Now it was Rosamunde’s turn to smile.
In truth, Richard had forgotten the promise, but he would never forget the kiss. He stroked her face again, “And will you finish the kiss?”
“Richard, you are… I could not.”
“Come,” he took her hand and led her to the palliasse. “Sit with me and I will cover myself with the blanket.”
She hesitated, but came after him willingly enough. He wrapped the blanket around himself while she settled herself on the bed. He sat beside her and pulled her to him, torn between the desire to take her there and then and despair at the thought that she might let him.
As they kissed, her hand crept across his naked chest. Her touch was tentative, but became surer. He became lost in her, drawing her closer and increasing the pressure on her mouth. Hers was the generosity borne of innocence. She did not know where he was leading her, but she followed willingly out of her trust in him.
He was wrong, surely, to suspect her of anything more than seeking to please the man she loved, but he had to know.
It was easy enough to untie the neck of her shift and slip his hand inside to her breast. He felt the hardness of her nipple against his han
d before he moved on to the firm, soft flesh of her full breast. He savoured it for a moment before Rosamunde pulled away from him and stood up.
“My lord, you forget yourself!” Her anger was unmistakable. She pulled the open flaps of her shift together and he was reminded again of the way she had sat on Sir Walter’s bed without covering herself.
“No, Rosamunde…”
“Is this how you know there are no women of virtue? You tell us soft words of love and then force yourself upon us when we are unarmed. Shame on you, my lord. What woman could resist? It is you who are without virtue. How many honest women have you seduced and ruined in this way? You shall not seduce me. You have known as much of my body as you shall ever know.”
“But Rosamunde!” he stood and the blanket fell away and the full extent of his desire was revealed in the moonlight that flooded through into the room through the large barred window that was designed to make prisoners cold in winter and hot in summer.
“I did not intend…”
“I can see clearly what you intended, my lord, and you shall not have me, not this night, nor any other.” Her coldness stunned him to silence and killed his desire.
She picked up her cloak and placed it on her shoulders, then turned back to him to spit out, “I thought you were an honourable man, but you are not. You are no different from Sir Walter. Worse, for he was at least honest about his intentions.”
She crossed to the door. “I could almost wish that you had not rescued me from him rather than live this moment.” Her voice was so faint that he almost missed it and he knew that she had not intended him to hear.
Then she was gone, locking the door behind her. Richard, unknowingly, had followed her across the room and sank to his knees against the door. He had found his virtuous woman and destroyed the love she had for him.
Chapter Twelve
Rosamunde did not know how she found her way back to her bedchamber, blinded as she was by her tears and her anger. How could she have been so badly mistaken? She had recognised from the start that Richard would cause trouble, but she had not realised that he would cause such trouble for her. He had even told her in as many words from the beginning that he did not consider any woman to be virtuous. Of course he would not have considered her to be an exception. How could she have thought that he would?
She had thought that her own virtue must be obvious to anyone who cared to look, but she had been wrong. Richard had considered her to be the same as every other woman who had let him down or been led astray by him. She now knew that he had been the one to destroy the virtue of the women he had known by seducing them as he had tried to seduce her. Except perhaps Louise. No, she was certain that Richard’s wife had indeed betrayed him. She did not think he had lied about that.
She threw herself onto her bed, giving way to the sobs that she thought would break her very soul. She was lost; the man she had loved was not worthy of her love. He had betrayed her trust. It did not matter that her father had forbidden them to marry; she could have talked him round in time. Even Sir Ralf was not a huge obstacle. Her father had always shown that he valued her happiness. He would be swayed by Sir Ralf’s position, but Ralf’s lack of intelligence would count against him.
No, nothing had stood in the way of her happiness with Richard except Richard himself.
And yet, had he been entirely wrong? She had gone to him alone, undressed at night. She had told herself that it was only to fulfil her promise to him, but she had not protested when he had held her and caressed her in the way that no man should caress any woman not his wife. She had even followed him to his bed and she had enjoyed what they had done there together. Even the touch that had caused her to come to her senses had been pleasing.
Even in her anger and her grief the memory of his touch pulsed through her body. Even now she longed for him to touch her again. She hated him, but she wanted his caresses. She had never felt this from Simon’s touch, even when he had kissed her. Now she felt incomplete and it was only Richard who could make her complete again. He had tried to seduce her and she could not forgive him. There could be no going back and she would never know his touch again.
She had upset her father for the sake of a man who was less than nothing and who did not value her. She had spent the afternoon trying to reason with the duke, pointing out Richard’s good qualities and his honour. The duke had listened patiently, admitting that he had reacted badly and that Richard might improve on better acquaintance. He acknowledged that the Frenchman had protected Rosamunde and saved her from Sir Walter. The duke would not be swayed by emotion, but Rosamunde thought that she had persuaded him to consider Richard more favourably. But now it did not matter, because she no longer wished to marry Richard. She would go into a convent. No, she would marry. If she went into a convent it would only show the power that Richard had over her. Married, he would have to admit that he could never have her. But marriage reminded her of Ralf. How could she marry Ralf knowing that she could have had Richard? How could she marry any man except the man she loved who had denied himself to her? Exhausted by her tears, she fell asleep still struggling to decide what to do for the best.
Richard had fallen asleep against the door of his dungeon. He was woken when the servant who had brought him food fell over him. As the servant lay stunned beside him, Richard realised that this was the opportunity he had hoped for last night to get out of his cell. He shook his head as he stood to help the boy to his feet. There was no point trying to go to Rosamunde now. She must despise him; he had certainly earned her disgust. He and the boy retrieved the bread and cheese from the floor. The small beer was gone forever, swallowed up by the dirt that made up the floor, so he would stay thirsty.
Instead of trying to escape, he sat down on his palliasse to eat. He was not hungry, but he assumed the duke’s patience would run out today. It might be some time before he had food again.
“My lord will see you this morning,” the servant said as he left.
Richard grunted his acknowledgement. It must be later than he thought if the duke was already about and giving orders. He shivered and realised he was still naked. Leaving the remains of his food on his bed, he pulled on his clothes. He had slept only lightly before Rosamunde had come and had stayed awake many hours crouched by the door hoping that she might come back. What little sleep he had managed to get had not refreshed him and he stretched to try and get his body to work properly. His leg ached; he must have slept with it beneath him when he had slept. Determined not to limp into the duke’s presence, he began to massage it as Margaret had taught him. It was painful, but not as painful as losing Rosamunde.
She must have told the duke what had happened by now. The duke loved his daughter and Richard’s punishment would undoubtedly be more severe than being locked in a reasonably comfortable dungeon overnight.
He had little time to ponder his fate, however, as the duke called for him almost immediately. Richard was not surprised when Guy came for him. The duke probably did not appreciate the humiliation he was heaping on his prisoner by sending his friend to act as his guard. Guy had given up his suspicions of the Frenchman the day Richard had returned with Rosamunde from Sir Walter’s manor. While Rosamunde and Thomas had recovered the two of them had run the castle, although it had seemed to other eyes that Guy had done it alone. Richard would have preferred the opportunity to make himself more presentable, but followed Guy obediently to the duke’s solar. Guy said nothing, telling Richard how angry the younger man must be.
“I love her,” Richard said as they started to cross the hall.
Guy sighed and stopped. “That has been obvious for a long time. I did not take you for a fool. The duke loves Rosamunde above all else. Did you think he would give her to a stranger for the sake of asking?”
Richard was taken aback. Could Guy still be on his side? He obviously did not know what Richard had done last night. “He trusted me with her life; he can trust me with her happiness.”
“You are a fool aft
er all. He didn’t trust you with her life. You were to delay her death. You were one more body between her and Sir Walter. That’s all. Your life was forfeit from the moment you gave yourself up to him.” Guy’s disappointment showed in his face. Richard thought again how wrong he had been not to trust this man from the beginning. He had underestimated Guy. The man might not be cunning, but he knew his lord.
Guy grinned. “Do not fear. You are stupid, but my lady is not. She will talk him round.” Guy at least did not know what happened.
“No, she will not. I am stupid and Rosamunde will not have a stupid man.”
Guy said nothing and the encouraging smile slipped from his face and they continued on to the duke’s solar. Richard knew that Guy was wondering what the Frenchman had done to make Rosamunde think him stupid. Let him wonder.